Fray-Adjacent

Xander woke up a little before sunset. Like, you know, normal people do, so breakfast gets a chance to run around out there while you sleep and warm itself up for ya.

There was no sign of Willow in the room; he guessed she must've found someplace to hole up for the day. Hopefully with a better-stocked wetbar than this one; the booze selection was okay, but not a drop of the red in sight. A quick toss of the room, peeking into the wardrobe and under the bed -- and in the big suitcase just in case because sometimes Willow got creative -- revealed that they hadn't stashed the former occupant anywhere, either.

Just as well, probably; he hated leftovers.

Still, it meant that by the time the sun finally set, he was hungry. Xander put on his leather jacket, slipped a small bottle of whiskey from the bar into one of the pockets, and grabbed the money clip out of the computer bag that must've belonged to last night's dinner. Not like he'd be needing it, and not like this was Sunnydale. Town not ruled by vampires, you still needed cash for some things.

Then he was out the door and into the night.

--
[Yaddayaddastablishycakes. Xander's... Xander. If he happened to have died when he was sixteen, never met Buffy Summers, and definitely never went to Fandom High.]

You'd think after last night, Xander would be sleeping in, and he did try, but he woke sometime long before he felt really rested. Rather than stare at the ceiling until it was a decent hour to call...people, he got up, showered, and did stuff that wouldn't wake anybody up who wasn't already awake.

It was hella later in Brazil, so he did try to call there, but he was met only with Kennedy's apologetic voice. He left a message for Willow with her and a Happy Birthday one on Buffy's cell, then went back to peering at his laptop. Noting the number of truly new e-mails that had already come in, he decided the old ones could wait until he'd saved everybody some WTF.

To: ( E-mail flood victims ) ( Sorry about that... )

Then and only then did he let himself read through the messages he'd been sent while he was gone, with the cellphone on hands-free so he could finally listen to the rest of his voicemail while he read.

When the last 'old' message started playing, though, Xander lifted his gaze from the screen and just stared. And then made a call it was always going to be too early to make.

When three hours had passed with no response, he made another. Which was ALWAYS a link, yes.


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[OOC: Open for a call from izzyalienqueen that he's not expecting, as well.]

Right, this wouldn't be Xander pacing around, worrying about Bridge and Z and cursing the lack of new news, in between poking verrrrry carefully at the old news in his in-box in case something jumps out and bites him. Which hey, Fandom, always a possibility.

He was also hoping he might hear from somebody who'd be likely to understand how completely fraxx0red his brain was right about now.
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[OOC: For willbedone]